


Facade

by kiokushitaka



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Depression, Explicit Language, Gen, POV Third Person, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiokushitaka/pseuds/kiokushitaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxas leaves and Axel has trouble dealing with it, but how? Nobodies can't feel... can they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facade

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a really long time ago and posted it to LJ under the_wonkamatic, I think. Like, the only games in the KH series were 1, 2 and CoM on Gameboy Advance when I wrote this... but the characterization still seems pretty good despite all that. One of my favorite things ever is to fill in things how I imagine they happened, so that's where this came from. I decided to repost some of my old fics to spice up my profile so I'd have more than just one fandom.

“Fine! Just go. See if I care.” Axel snapped, unable to stop tears from running down his face. He glared at the younger blond through watery eyes, realizing that he simply couldn’t pull off ‘menacing’ while crying but he tried to anyway. Roxas stared back, eyes hard and angry. They were both stubborn and wouldn’t relent, and that was that. Turning on his heel, Roxas stalked off without saying goodbye or giving the redhead another glance. Axel crumpled to the floor, soft sobs shaking his thin frame for a moment before he regained his composure and pulled himself back up. Tears mean that you care. He thought to himself, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. His eyeliner smeared, nose red. 

Teleporting back to the castle, he made his way back to his quarters. Inside he went to his bathroom and stared at his reflection. 

“You disgust me.” He spat at his reflection, “You weak thing… what the fuck is wrong with you?!” his head hung, dropping his gaze to the sink and he shook his head ‘no.’ With renewed rage, he looked back up at his reflection. “You fucking pansy. You’re not supposed to feel things like this! Why… I don’t care! I don’t!” his own hands reached up, pulling down on tendrils of hair, pain shooting through his scalp. He whined, slamming himself against the wall and let out a strangled sob. “I don’t care. I don’t. I really don’t care…” he began his mantra, convincing himself of anything and everything. After all, it is said that if you tell a lie long enough, eventually it becomes truth. “So what if he’s gone? I DON’T CARE!” He shrieked, slamming his fist into the mirror. A sickening crack resonated in the room as the glass spider-webbed from the point where his fist connected with it. 

The pain was somewhat satisfying, so he punched the surface again, and again. His glove ripped, catching on shards of broken glass and tearing away. He bit his lip when the shattered surface cut into the flesh of his hand, shards becoming embedded in his skin as blood appeared in the area of impact. One more for good measure, and he held his fist in place. Cold, angry eyes drifted up to see pieces of himself. He smirked then, that’s exactly how he felt. Beaten and broken, and it was all his fault. 

Hollow, mirthless laughter bubbled up from his throat, spilling out. His head thrown back, he cackled, tears welling up in his eyes again. When his laughter died down, he brought his hand up to his face, inspecting it carefully, picking splinters of glass from the mutilated tissue. Absently, the redhead flicked the shards off, running his aching and bleeding hand under warm water before attempting to peel off what was left of the glove. A bored expression remained on his face throughout this ritual. Certain he’d gotten all the shards out, he rummaged under his sink for clean gauze to wrap the wound. He knew that the others would ask what happened, and he really didn’t care what they thought—he wasn’t telling them of his moment of weakness under any circumstances. 

They’d never understand, and if they did, they’d refuse to divulge that they did. Such was the nature of a nobody. Such was their fate. 

Axel shuddered again, leaning heavily against the wall behind him. He let gravity work as his body sunk slowly to the ground. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them staring at the handles of the sink cabinets dully. Letting out a long sigh, he looked up at the white ceiling. He sat like this for an indeterminable amount of time, eyes aching from the crying he wouldn’t admit to. It wasn’t long until they fluttered shut and he dozed off into an uneasy sleep. 

His dream was dark and scary. He was running through a forest made completely of gnarled, dead trees. His lungs ached, begging for him to stop. He ignored them and kept pushing himself forward as though something was chasing him bent on taking his life. He didn’t know what was back there, but he certainly didn’t want to find out. It was at this point that he was ripped from his nightmare by staccato rapping on his door. He gasped for air, a cold sweat covering his body. 

Disoriented, he was rendered speechless while he tried to remember where he was and why his whole body felt as though he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His legs ached like he’d actually been running long distances, his hand throbbed through its gauze and his chest heaved from lack of oxygen. 

“Axel.” It was Saïx. The redhead sighed grumpily. He groaned softly as he pushed himself into a standing position and made his way to the door of his room. 

“What?” he asked, a cranky edge to his voice as he cracked the door open. A single jade eye looked out of the small opening boring into Saïx’s golden one. The blue-haired man sneered at him, unable to see much but what he could see was enough. The fire mage’s hair didn’t seem as vibrant and his makeup was smeared all over his face.

“Rumor has it that you’re… showing emotion?” Silence stretched for the span of five minutes until Axel laughed. The sound had no feeling or happiness or even sadness in it. It was just empty and cold. He poked his disheveled head out of the door, granting the man a closer look. 

“Word travels fast in this goddamn place, don’t it?” Axel mused, smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “For the record, no. I’m not feeling anything. I used to—” he stopped himself. Saïx cocked an eyebrow at him, questioningly. “I used to think I did. Of course, that’s impossible.” Another pause, “Been hanging around IX too much lately.” 

“I’m sure.” The other man said with a certain amount of skepticism. “Watch yourself.” He concluded, eyes meeting Axel’s in a menacing stare. The redhead stared right back, mouth still upturned in a devilish grin. Saïx turned stiffly and marched away. The door closed softly.

On the other side of the door, he leaned heavily against it, sliding down it as he was suddenly unable to keep his body upright. The darkened room closed in around him, consuming his entire non-being. A soft moan escaped his lips when a particularly painful throbbing began in his head. Gripping his scalp, he barely made it to his bed before collapsing onto it into a shallow, dreamless sleep.


End file.
